


Inevitably Everything

by CheekyTorah



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Ron Weasley, Banter, Business Partners Draco and Harry, Dancing, Dancing Lessons, Dating, Dating service, Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Draco Malfoy & Ron Weasley Friendship, Draco Malfoy is a hot mess, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Good Draco Malfoy, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mentioned Louis Weasley, POV Alternating, POV Multiple, Pining, Pining Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley is a hot mess, Waltzing, evil ex’s, ministry gala
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-03-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:13:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22979686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheekyTorah/pseuds/CheekyTorah
Summary: Ron didn’t need help finding a date.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Ron Weasley, Harry Potter/George Weasley
Comments: 13
Kudos: 210
Collections: Ron/Draco Fest - Better Together





	1. Ron

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_reader_and_writer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_reader_and_writer/gifts).



> Thanks for the lovely prompt this fic was made!!
> 
> This fic would not be what it is without the support and encouragement from my friends K & C and it wouldn’t have been able to be here today without the lovely beta L
> 
> Username: AO3: a-reader-and-writer or Tumblr: harrypotterfanfictionwriter  
> Prompt: Harry is the owner of a dating service. Draco Malfoy works at this service and is assigned to Ron as his date to the Ministry gala  
> Preferred Rating: Any/All  
> Media preference: Any/All  
> Squicks: Weasley bashing, sad endings, very heavy angst

  
“Harry, no,” Ron said in exasperation. “I don’t need help to find a date.”

Harry smirked from behind his menu but didn’t push further; for which Ron was grateful. The waitress stood by Harry, eyes wide and excited. Ron shook his head, glad he wasn’t the Saviour and attracting the kind of attention Harry did at every turn.

“Can I get you something to drink, M-M-Mr Potter?”

Harry threw her a charming smile and Ron rolled his eyes when she flushed from her forehead to the collar of her shirt. It was the same every time they went out. Harry would get some ridiculous amount of attention, they’d spend their meal taking two bites at a time between interruptions from adoring fans and then question why they bothered to go out at all.

“Water is fine,” he said, and she quickly poured their water, took their orders and hurried away.

“Ridiculous,” Ron muttered.

“So, who are you taking to the Ministry Gala next month? It’s only three weeks away.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ron groaned and rubbed his hand over his face. “I could have easily just taken Jordan, but I’m not sure he’d want to go out on a date when I dumped him three months back.”

“Why was that again?” Harry asked innocently. But innocent, the question was not.

“You know why.”

Harry grinned and leaned forward. “Tell me again, I must have forgotten.”

Ron sighed and rubbed his eyes. He didn’t have the energy for a back and forth with Harry today. The bloke had been a right arsehole, if Ron had been honest, but he was fit as sin and Ron had definitely asked him out in the beginning while thinking with his prick. He was blonde, and tall and lanky but broad, and he had this smirk that really did things for Ron’s groin. It was unfortunate that he was a vanilla bottom. Snarky but boring in bed. Even dirty talk had made Jordan raise a brow and ask him what the bloody fuck Ron was trying to pull. It was the least satisfying relationship he had been in, and that was saying a lot, considering Ron had even dated Lavender Brown.

“He just wasn’t suited to me,” Ron groaned. “In bed or otherwise. Besides, Mum hated him, and she can even tolerate bloody Malfoy for Merlin’s sake.”

Molly Weasley liked just about everyone, so when Ginny had taken him aside four months into his relationship with Jordan, informing him of Molly’s severe distaste for his newest partner, he was a bit surprised. It wasn’t like Jordan was a complete arse all the time, but he was a bit stuck up. Considering mum actually liked Malfoy’s pompous arse, Jordan must have been pretty bad.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for dating someone Molly didn’t like for as long as you did,” Harry said thoughtfully. “Jordan didn’t even try to be polite to her, just looked down his nose at her home, her family, basically everything there. Even Draco has the decency to be polite and compliment the Burrow.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ron said. “I still don’t like him.”

Harry raised a brow and smirked. “Sure, Ron, whatever you say.”

After supper, they found themselves at the Leaky waiting for Draco and Pansy to join them.

“I’m telling you Ron,” Harry said around sips of his Butterbeer. “You really ought to take me up on that offer. You don’t want to be cornered by Robards again, do you? Besides, I will gladly ensure that whomever from my service escorts you to the Ministry is aware of your stipulations.”

“I don’t want a prostitute, Harry!”

Harry glared at him. “I don’t run a brothel, Ronald. I run a legitimate dating service where Wixen may hire a date for events. You would not be sleeping with them.”

Ron blushed. Of course, he wouldn’t even consider hiring a date anyway. That would be absolutely embarrassing. If he had to go stag, he would. Gladly. He could even attempt to pick someone up there. Waltz them around, if he could ever remember the steps, and snog them senseless in a dark corridor. Yet, there was the risk of getting cornered by Robards. His boss, sure, but also horribly horny and with a fancy for Ron. 

“Fine,” he sighed. “I’ll come by next week, and we can discuss this further.”

“Tomorrow,” Harry said sternly. “I’m actually booking months ahead but I think we can squeeze you in.”

Ron groaned.

“Squeeze Weasley in for what, Potter?” Draco asked as he slid onto the bench across from him and Harry.

“He needs a date for the Gala.”

“I’m sure he and half of England does, unfortunately we’ve been booked solid for three months,” Draco said matter-of-factly.

Harry smirked again, raised his brows at Draco, and Ron watched as their shared looks went from amused to gleeful. The arseholes were having a conversation with their bloody eyes right in front of Ron. He fumed. He hated how close they had got over the years, it made him sick and angry, a tight grip on his guts made him feel like the world was off its axis.

It was because Harry was supposed to be his friend. After being best friends for 20 years, Ron and Harry were the ones who were supposed to have conversations without the need for words. It had nothing to do with Draco, except maybe he hated it more because Draco was such a git. Yeah, that’s all it was. All it could be.

“You know what, Weasley?” Draco said thoughtfully and eyed his perfectly manicured nails like the git he was. “I think we may actually have a space.”

“Really?” Ron shifted and tried not to look too eager.

Draco hummed in acknowledgement, and proceeded to look over Ron in a way that made Ron feel like his clothing was all suddenly too tight and the air in the room was mysteriously gone. He took a deep schooled breath as he looked at Draco, whose appraisal turned predatory as he gave Ron a wolfish grin.

“Yes,” he drawled with a raised brow. “Me.”

Oh, fuck. It took Ron a few moments of gaping in shock before he could bring himself to respond.

“No, I refuse,” he finally choked out. “There must be someone else - anyone else would do, really.” 

He looked desperately at Harry, who had a strange impassive look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Ron, there just isn’t.”

“Thanks for nothing,” Ron grumbled and downed the rest of his drink. 

Harry was supposed to be his friend, and he was trying to pair him with Malfoy?

“I’ll find someone on my own,” Ron said with determination.

~*~

It was a week before the Gala when Ron practically wept at Harry’s feet. He was in Harry’s office, slouched in the chair across from Harry’s desk and practically ripping out chunks of his hair from frustration.

“Why don’t you attend with me?” Ron begged. 

“I think there's the little difficulty of my being married to your brother, Ron,” Harry smirked.

“George will understand,” Ron pouted, though he knew Harry had no intention of going without his husband on his arm.

The two had been married for three years, and to say it had made Ron uneasy at first was putting it lightly, but the two complemented one another very well. Surprisingly.

“Draco is still available, you know,” Harry said pointedly. 

“I don’t want the bloke no one wants,” Ron said with a blush. “Besides it’s Malfoy.”

“Ron, you know Draco doesn’t work much anymore,” He smiled. “Why do you think he even offered?”

“To drive me bloody mental for 4 hours,” Ron grumbled and Harry gave him a strange look before he sighed.

“Honestly, Ron, I knew you were thick, but really?”

“What the bloody hell did I do?”

Harry shook his head sadly.

“Draco will be waiting for you at the Buttered Cup tomorrow at 10am, just don’t be late you wanker.” Harry gave Ron a very pointed look. 

Ron briefly wondered if marrying a Weasley had been a bad idea. Harry repeatedly reminded Ron of his mum when Harry scolded him.

“Fine,” he grumbled as he slid out of the chair. “But I refuse to pay for this.”

Harry just smirked.

  
  



	2. Draco

It was downright appalling how nervous he was. This was Weasley. He might be fit as all hell, and sure Draco may have had a stupid attraction to the git for the last several years, but that didn’t mean that Draco should be nervous. This was just a business meeting. It was nothing. The fucker had made it alarmingly clear he had no interest in Draco. He knew he was just setting himself up for further rejection, but he figured he’d just have to keep his feelings to himself, and at least he could retain his pride.  
  
He smoothed down his waistcoat and stepped into the Wizarding café. After a quick glance around he slipped into a booth, unsurprised that Weasley hadn’t shown his freckled face yet. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that, a few moments into day dreaming about maiming Weasley’s precious hair when he finally arrived, Draco didn’t notice the waiter waiting at his side. The man cleared his throat impatiently and Draco’s eyes darted up in a venomous glare.

“Coffee black, with sugar and milk for the table, please,” he sneered.

The man - Brendan, according to his name tag - worked his jaw in annoyance, nodded and stalked away. Draco cursed himself; he had really been working on not taking his pent-up emotions out on others, especially wait staff. The waiter returned promptly with a huff and dropped the sugar and milk on the table before pouring the coffee in Draco’s empty cup. As he turned to leave Draco stopped him.

“Wait,” He said hesitantly. “I apologize. It’s been a difficult day, and I’m in for a very difficult meeting shortly. It was no excuse, though.”

The waiter’s frown melted into a sympathetic smile.

“I understand,” he said slowly. “Call me over if you need anything.”

Draco nodded and pulled a folder from his jacket, which he quickly unshrunk, and placed on the table in front of him. As he was stirring his coffee, Weasley dropped unceremoniously into the seat across from him.

“Late as always, Weasley,” Draco chided and stirred his coffee absently, circling his finger in the air as the spoon spun slowly on its own. He stared down at the papers in front of him, and decidedly not at the freckled face in front of him.

“Rude as always, Malfoy,” Weasley countered, and Draco huffed a small laugh,

He looked up, an odd sparkle of amusement in Weasleys bright blue eyes and Draco took another deep breath before he began with all the terms of their arrangement.

“Since you’ve never acquired a date through our service yet, I figured I should go through the policies before moving forward,” Draco said quite matter-of-factly. “You obviously are not entitled to anything outside of being escorted to the event, that I’m sure goes without saying, but it is on the list of policies, and I am required to read them to you.”

Weasley choked on what must have only been his tongue, because he didn’t have a drink yet.

“Breathe,” Draco smirked before he continued. “Your payment is waived, as this is a favour not a transaction, but you will be required to attend a robe fitting. I prefer to match my clients when attending a formal function. You do have a better look going for you than some of our more...unfortunate friends...but I do believe you will need to be properly measured for your tailored robes.”

Weasley groaned.

“Yes, yes,” Draco muttered. “How horrible to look appropriate for a ministry function.”

“Why go to all these lengths? I don't improve with formal wear and you would look great in a burlap sack.” Weasley froze, turned an attractive shade of red and fumbled with the menu.  
  
Did Weasley just… compliment Draco? He felt his face flush, an uncomfortable heat spreading down his neck and under his collar.  
  


Draco coughed awkwardly into his fist as the waiter appeared beside them, ready to take their order. Weasley, of course, allowed himself practically the entire menu while Draco ordered a simple Quiché and asked the waiter to ‘keep it coming’ with the coffee.

“This swill has nothing on that lovely new shop down the road from my flat, the Starred Bucks,” Draco complained and added even more sugar to his cup.

“Starbucks,” Weasley corrected. “It’s Starbucks, not Starred Bucks, and I’m shocked you go there. It’s Muggle you know.”

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Weasley still thought him to be the pretentious and prejudiced prat from their school days. He sighed. Draco suddenly felt so very small and insignificant. He hated that such a small statement from Weasley could provoke him, as it always had, but nevertheless here he was, feeling miserable and untrustworthy. In the past he would lash out at the feeling of insignificance, aiming to cause pain and chaos in his wake. Draco was just too damn tired and over it all to bother.

“Thank you for correcting me, Weasley,” Draco enunciated slowly. “And yes, I was quite aware of its non-magical status. I do live in Muggle London.”

“You do?” Weasley looked shocked. And that alone made Draco’s skin crawl. 

“I understand it must be difficult for you to grasp that people grow up, that they change, that not everyone holds on to the past like you seem to, but I ask that you show a little restraint in your assumptions. At least where I am concerned. I think it would make for a better experience whilst I escort you to the Gala.”

Weasley paled. Looking down at his fidgeting fingers, he nodded silently. 

“Part of the experience of a proper date through our service is ensuring that not only do you have someone to go on the date with, but also that the night is more of an experience than just a business transaction. So, do you know how to dance?”

“Mate, I haven’t danced since the Yule Ball,” Weasley chuckled and Draco could have choked.

Mate. Weasley has never called him that before. Draco did his best to act normal, but he could feel the slight flush to his cheeks. Mate. Merlin, Draco was fucked.

“Okay, so you will need to practice every day. Usually it would be once a week as we typically book months in advance, but if you can clear an hour from your evenings I can meet you at whatever location suits. I suggest a few times at yours or mine, and then once or twice at a pub to practice around other dancing couples.” 

Draco avoided looking at Weasley’s face. He could feel those piercing blue eyes boring into him, and he couldn’t face the scrutiny. He cleared his throat and pulled at his collar; he felt hot and nervous.

“Robes, dancing,” Weasley said slowly. “Anything else to make me fit to date a Malfoy?”

And Merlin, why did Draco have to be sipping his coffee just then? He did choke this time.

“I was joking, Malfoy, fuck,” Weasley barked a laugh so wonderful that Draco could have melted.

He felt his face heat up again and busied himself with his papers, straightening and reordering them while he regained his composure. He had to get a hold on himself or Weasley would see right through him. As thick as the bastard was, Draco was practically holding up a flag that screamed, ‘I like red-haired weasels’.

“Other than that no, I assume you know how to talk, to mingle,” Draco said sarcastically and smirked when Weasley’s face fell. “Well, I can give you a short lesson on appropriate polite small talk for functions as these. Can’t have you embarrassing yourself in front of the American embassy rep.”

“Thanks, Malfoy,” Weasley seemed to relax. “Really.”

Draco stuck the papers into his case and shrunk it back down to size before slipping it into his pocket. He drained his coffee and nodded politely at the waiter who promptly brought the bill. After he paid his share, he stood to leave, and held out his hand for Weasley to shake. The other seemed to hesitate for half a second before Draco’s hand was met with warm rough fingers and palm. He bit back a shiver, before he escaped back into Diagon Alley.


	3. Ron

The following day was a Sunday, and Ron had the afternoon set aside for robe fitting and dance lessons. He was feeling a bit on edge. There was...something...weird about Malfoy. Or weird about spending time with Malfoy maybe. 

Ron stepped into the tailors shop and almost tripped over his feet. Malfoy was topless. He was topless in the middle of the shop. All pale skin, and hard and soft planes of his body on display. Had he always looked like...like that? Ron felt his jaw drop and his eyes bulge as he stared helplessly at the man Malfoy had become.

“Late again, Weasley,” Malfoy drawled as the assistant was guiding a tape measuring with his wand around Malfoy’s back.

Merlin, Malfoy’s back. The delicate line of his spine, the lean muscle moving under his skin, his broad shoulders that tensed against the measuring tape and glided across his almost flawless skin. Almost flawless, be it for the light brown smudge of a birthmark on his right shoulder blade. Why did that little thing make Ron’s finger twitch?

Ron grumbled an apology as he stumbled up onto the platform beside Malfoy. He was poked, prodded and pulled on. It was for the best that he had his back to the git beside him because he wasn’t forced to see Malfoy stripping down to his pants to change and try on new trousers.

~*~

When they finally walked out of the shop it was two hours later and Ron was starved. He convinced Malfoy to stop for some take away to bring back to his flat. He grumbled the entire way; apparently Thai take-out was barbaric, but eventually they made it back to Rons’ in their original clothing.

“I don’t get it, do you have an issue with Thai food?” Ron asked between bites of sweet and sour pork. He was on the floor in front of his coffee table in the sitting room and Malfoy was watching him with disgust.

“No, but that,” Malfoy pointed a long slender finger at Ron's container of sticky fried chicken. “Is not Thai. That is dog food.”

Ron snorted. When did Malfoy become funny? Had he always been? Ron had to admit, he hadn’t spent an overly long amount of time listening to the man talking over the years. Maybe noticing his arse, or his strangely full lips, but not the words that came out of them.   
  
Malfoy snagged a piece of chicken from the carton and popped it into his mouth. Seriously though, that mouth was a bit obscene.

“We’ll have to move things if this is where you expect us to practice,” Malfoy looked around the room.

“Yes I figured we could shrink all the furniture, but make sure to set it aside on the counter. I really don’t want to lose another armchair,” Ron grinned.

“A certain black-haired scar head, I presume?” Draco asked with a raised brow. He had the hint of a smirk in the corner of his mouth.

“The git shrank my armchair and hid in here somewhere. I’d Finite it but what if he put it in the floorboards, or in a vase,” Ron groaned. “He thought he was being funny, but then he forgot where he hid it too. That was about a year ago, now.”

“What about an Accio?” 

“Yea, it doesn’t work. I give it a try now and then.”

Draco smirked. “Sounds like Harry.”  
  
Ron hummed in response as he finished the last of his food and vanished the rubbish. He then began shrinking all the furniture and stashing it in a cookie jar on the counter. When he turned back to Malfoy, he gulped. There he was, in his stupid pressed suit and his stupid perfect hair, watching Ron with that same curious look he often had when around him.

Ron cleared his throat as he stepped towards him.

“So, where do we begin?”

“Well, first you put your hand on my shoulder,” Draco said with a wide grin. “Unless you can’t handle me leading?”

Ron narrowed his eyes. Of course, he could, he just didn’t exactly want to. Of course the pointy bastard needed to make it a challenge. Ron gripped Malfoy's hand and placed his other on his shoulder while Malfoy flicked his wand at the wireless. Immediately a slow song began to filter through the room and Malfoy pulled him closer.

“Don’t look at your feet, it’ll throw off the rhythm,” Malfoy said as Ron went to step back to do exactly that. “Just feel the music. Step forward with the heel, and step backwards with the toe. It’s a three step, it’s really quite simple but if you don’t listen to your partner you will end up stepping on their toes.”

Ron nodded, watching the way Malfoy’s mouth moved as he spoke.

“Your hand shouldn’t be on top of my shoulder, it should be placed a bit more on the side,” Ron moved it down slightly. “Yes there. You are going to step back with your right foot. You will be stepping in the shape of a box, one step back, one step to the side, we’ll go left, and one step to join your feet together. And we do those three steps around in the shape of a box. On my count. One… two… ouch! My left!”

“Sorry,” Ron mumbled, and shuffled backwards.

“It’s fine, lets try again,” Malfoy said, looking as patient as one could after being stepped on. “Count with me this time.”

“One… two… three… one… wait! I’m confused, I thought I stepped back on one?”

“In a box Weasley!” Malfoy sighed. He flicked his wand and drew a pale white misty box in the air beside them. “We start here, the first three counts has us here.” he pointed to a corner. “Then we do another this way, and then this way brings us to the start again.”

“Oh,” Ron nodded. The image really helped. “Thanks, Malfoy!”

Malfoy blushed a bit, a really attractive tint to his pale cheeks and Ron bit back a grin. They started again, the steps still awkward and robotic, but Ron was able to actually complete a whole box without stepping on Malfoy once. He considered it a win.

At the end of a two-hour practice Ron was glad to have his furniture back and slumped into it.

“You know, for an Auror you have a really poor stamina,” Malfoy snarked as he sat beside him. 

He wasn’t panting or sweaty, he didn’t appear sore or out of sorts from their proximity. Ron felt like his entire world was off kilter, and Malfoy sat there examining his nails and asking Ron what time was best for the next day. Then he left via Floo, travelling to a wizard pub near his end of Muggle London, and Ron was once again alone in his tiny flat. He pulled on his coat and disappeared into the Floo too, calling out his destination forcefully.

“Twelve Grimmauld Place!”

He stumbled out of the Floo and immediately shielded his eyes.

“Blimey, Ronnykins,” George complained. “Warn a bloke before you stumble into his home.”

Harry had a pillow in his lap and George was under a blanket where he had fallen onto the floor.

“You're bloody adults, why are you fucking in the sitting room, and I’m not curious about what exactly you were doing with that… that…” Ron lost the words to continue and felt sick.

Ron heard Harry laugh and Conjure clothing for him and his husband, before scolding Ron for another untimely appearance.

“I just need to talk to you,” Ron whined a bit. “Malfoy just left.”

George raised his brows and gave Harry a pointed look before slipping away to make a pot of tea.

“Well then, have a seat,” Harry waved towards the armchair.

“Not on your bloody life,” Ron scrunched up his nose. “The floor is good thanks.”

“We’ve shagged on every inch of the house, Ronald,” George called in a sing-song voice from the kitchen. “Surely you don’t think that the floor is out of bounds!”

“Disgusting.”


	4. Draco

“I have a bone to pick with you,” Draco snarled and slammed the door behind him. 

Harry was sitting at his desk, smirking up at Draco and tossing something between his hands. He looked smug, like he had won some kind of game and it irked Draco to no end. He had said this was going to be an easy date. They’d meet at the Ministry Gala, spend a few hours on each others arms and then go their separate ways.

“I don’t really understand why you failed to mention that Weasley was unprepared for this event in every way.”

“It _ is _ Ron, I don’t know why you expected anything else.”

Draco sunk into a seat across from him, and buried his face in his hands. His head was full of racing thoughts, and he’d hardly slept. Being pressed up against Ronald fucking Weasley was so difficult, and he had to do it every day for the next five days.

“Harry,” Draco said exasperated, and he heard Harry sigh. “You know why this matters.”

“Oh stop with the dramatics, Draco.”

He glared at Harry. This wasn’t dramatic; there was a really high chance that if he and Weasley spent this much time together the idiot might actually work out how Draco felt. How he had felt since sixth year and the world was against him. How the things he felt survived a war, survived him changing into a better man, becoming friends with Harry. And really all of those things happened, in part, because of how he felt about Weasley. 

“Seriously,” Harry laughed. “You both are the biggest idiots I know. People call me the oblivious one, but Ron took seven years to realize he liked Hermione, and another two to realize he only liked cock.”

“What’s that have to do with anything?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Draco, seriously? You are like the second smartest human being I know!”

“I fear for the fact that you always praise me for my intelligence but specify me in the human classification. Please tell me you don't have me lower on the scale in comparison to a beast of some sort.”

“I wouldn’t call him a beast,” Harry chuckled at Draco's’ scowl. “Oh please, I speak to serpents. I know lots of intelligent creatures.”

“Back to the topic, Potter,” Draco snapped.

“Potter again,” Harry smiled softly. “Draco, we’ve been friends for a long time now. Trust me when I say, this is a good thing.”

“I will blame you if this whole thing ends by going up in flames.”

“I know.”

~*~

“One... Two… Three…”

Draco could hear the mumbling and the frustrated groan. He pushed open the door to Weasley’s flat, amused to see him in his new robes, eyes closed and dancing around the room. Draco watched him for a moment, certain he hadn’t heard Draco come in and then as quietly as he could, walked up behind him.

“Looking good.”

“Bloody hell!” he yelled and jumped at least a foot.

Draco laughed watching the shocked expression slowly turn annoyed. Really it wasn’t Draco’s fault the git hadn’t been attentive enough to hear Draco walk in.

“Fuck, Malfoy! Thanks a lot, you scared me half to death.”

“I must keep you on your toes, of course.”

“Yeah, yeah, so uh,” he flushed a bit and looked away. “How was I really doing?”

“I said it looked good, didn’t I?” Draco had a small smile before he looked around trying to avoid Weasleys surprise. “I mean, far from my calibre but you’re getting better.”

“That is high praise from a Malfoy.”

Draco’s eyes snapped to Weasleys, and he looked at Draco with an intensity he’d never seen before. Draco cleared his throat before he continued.

“Yes, well, let’s get to it.”

Draco held Weasley’s back at his shoulder and turned him about the room. He stumbled a few times but most of his steps were correct, if a bit stiff. Draco was almost proud.

“You are doing so well, but let's try to loosen you up a bit,” Draco closed his eyes and pulled Weasley in a bit more. “No more counting, just listen to the music and follow my lead. When I move, feel for my cues. A waltz is an exchange, like a conversation.”

Draco gripped his hand with a bit more pressure as he stepped forward and Ron stepped back fluidly. 

“When one person asks a question, the other answers it, correct?”

“Sure,” Weasley mumbled.

Draco pulled lightly and they stepped in sync to the side. Each press, or minute pressure from Draco was responded to with the correct movement as they glided along the floor. Draco bit back a groan as Weasley’s breath ghosted against his neck. Draco looked up at him and was met with piercing blue eyes. He cleared his throat and looked around the room to avoid his gaze.

“Congratulations, you are doing splendid. Now we are going to introduce moving outside the box.”

“Wait, outside the box?” Weasley looked a bit panicked. “There's an outside of the box?”

Draco smirked.

“We are going to add a change of steps called the progressive basic step, so we do a side step but then I’d step forward with my other leg. The goal is to move you around the room, to basically present you to all the ends of the room by the end of the song. You’d follow my cue for that as well. Don’t focus too hard on the change of steps, but feel the way my body guides yours.”

Draco did his best not to notice the tingling in his hands where he touched Weasley. He tried so bloody hard not to feel every breath on his neck and every thump of his own heart. He gulped when their chests collided as Draco tried to flow into the second steps.

“Shit, sorry,” Weasley grumbled, attempting to discreetly glance at their feet.

“Eyes up here,” Draco said softly, lifting Weasleys chin with the hand that belonged on his back. 

Draco guided Ron around the room and strangely, their gaze never broke. Draco could feel his cheeks tint, but he carried on, forcing himself not to look away. There was definitely something wrong with him, he couldn’t stop thinking horribly inappropriate things and wishing they were just an inch or two closer. He pictured them dancing to the music at the Gala, Draco sliding along the dance floor with the most attractive and tall man there. Merlin, Weasley was a fucking tree. Draco was by no means short, but he did have to look up at Ron. 

The music faded out, and they slowed to a stop, arms still around one another. Then Weasley coughed awkwardly and stepped away.    
  
“Can’t believe we’ve been at it for two hours already.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Same time tomorrow?”

Feeling as if he was being dismissed, Draco felt his expression go cold and gave a sharp nod. Of course, there was nothing here than simple dance lessons so the Weasel wouldn’t embarrass Draco on the dance floor. His habit of being defensive and attacking like a cornered dog shined through.

“Yes, thank Salazar I will only need to dance with you once, of course,” Draco snapped and turned on his heel to leave.

“Hey,” Weasley protested but Draco felt a rant flowing through him and was unable to stop the words.

“Don’t worry, I’ll play my part as your date for the evening, but I am only doing what I must so that your clumsy mistakes don’t land someone in St Mungo's.”

“Harsh,” Weasley grinned, obviously missing the sneer on Draco's face.

Draco faltered. Was Weasley flirting… no, he was mistaken… he had to be.

“Did you want to grab some food? I’m knackered, and I didn’t have time to eat after work.”

Draco blinked. Then blinked again.

“Sure, I guess,” he said slowly waiting for the punchline.

It never came.


	5. Ron

The week was passing quickly. Ron found himself eagerly awaiting his lessons with Draco. Somewhere in the past couple days he’d become Draco instead of Malfoy in Ron’s head, though he had yet to voice it. Monday they had talked for a good hour while they ate, and Ron shared more about himself then he had ever thought possible. He had told Draco about Jordan, about the rudeness and even about the less than stellar performances in bed. Draco seemed particularly pissed about how rude Jordan had been to his mum. Ron had blushed when Draco had added that Jordan never deserved him in the first place.

Every time they had a lesson, Ron felt this surge of electricity at the points their bodies touched. It was something he had never felt with anyone before and it was a bit terrifying. Attraction was one thing, but as Ron slowly got to know Draco, he liked him more and more. He was snarky and bitchy but not in an altogether unpleasant way. He had humour much like Harry’s, but where Harry tried to hold back, Draco pushed forward, pressing against the tentative walls that were built up around Ron. He had already shared more than he had even with Harry at times.

It was already Thursday, and Ron and Draco were prepared to leave for the Wizarding pub in which they would practice around real couples for the first time when a misty bright badger trotted into the room.

“Ron, oh thank goodness, I need your help! Bill and Fleur have to take Dominique to the healer and I need someone to babysit Louis, so I can go with them. Please, hurry over!”

Molly Weasley’s voice rushed out of the animal and immediately the mist evaporated.

Ron looked apologetically over at Draco.

“I’m sorry but my mum needs me,” he said as he pulled his coat around himself.

Draco nodded.

“Well we need to keep up the practice, so let's go together,” Draco suggested. “The Burrow has enough space.”

Ron constantly forgot that Draco was something of a regular, if only monthly, at the Weasley dinners. Still, he was uncertain. Just because he smiled politely and ate their food, didn’t mean he would be respectful of his family home. It was something of a sore spot to Ron. That home was beautiful to him. It was everything. His childhood and his family were everything to him.

“Erm, sure,” he said reluctantly.

They made their way out of the flat and to the nearest apparition point. Ron gulped, and quickly realized that Draco was reaching out to Side-Along Apparate with him. They had only touched for dancing, outside that they hadn’t so much as brushed fingers. When Draco’s hand closed around his elbow, Ron shivered from the tingling contact. What the bloody-hell was that anyway? With a muted crack they disappeared.

~*~

Mum was waiting when they appeared by the door, and she had a look of pleased surprise when she saw Draco.

“Draco, dear,” she leaned forward and kissed his cheek and gave him a warm squeeze. Ron knew that squeeze. Knew how warm and comforting it was. “Come in, both of you. Dominique took a tumble off of a tree and broke her arm, so she needs to see a healer. Louis is asleep in the sitting room. Though, he should be moved to one of the beds.”

“I’ll move him Molly,” Draco said with a kind smile and Ron felt his chest tighten. “Third floor on the right?”

“Thank you, Draco.”

She watched him carry the four-year-old up the stairs and turned a scrutinizing gaze on Ron. She had always been able to see through him, and it always made him uncomfortable and even a bit scared when she pointed her knobbly finger at him.

“Ronald,” she began, but he raised his hands.

“What?” he asked defensively.

“Are you dating someone and not telling me?”

Ron almost choked on his tongue. Date Draco? That was completely- well it wasn’t as absurd as it likely would have felt a week ago but still. Draco and Ron?

“No mum, he’s just helping me learn how to dance.” He flinched realizing that was probably not the best way to go about it. “Because Draco’s my date for the Gala tomorrow.”

And that was even worse. She got a hopeful expression on her face. It was no secret that since Harry and Draco had begun working together, Molly had made space in her heart for him. It was Molly who had insisted that Draco was just a child and often argued with anyone who spoke negatively about him, especially mentioning his Dark Mark. Probably because of how horrible Lucius was, Ron’s father had even become chummy with Draco. Some rot about young men needing positive fatherly roles. 

He had never understood it before. Harry, Hermione, and his parents all loved Draco. Today though, Ron finally did. Draco was funny and charming, and sometimes even a delight to be around. He cared about people. Sure he was still a prat sometimes, but even that Ron found he liked for reasons. 

“Well, you could do worse than Draco Malfoy,” Molly nodded and pushed past him. “No funny business, I’m warning you now.”

“Funny business? What in Merlin's saggy trousers do you expect?”

“I never know what to expect with you Ronald Weasley, that's half the problem.”

Ron chuckled as his mum gave him another stern look and slipped out of the house. Draco appeared moments later with a smile.

“He talks in his sleep, about Bowtruckles,” Draco laughed. 

Ron was a bit taken aback, in the best way possible, listening to Draco’s laughter. It brightened his face and put warmth to his pale skin. Ron was tempted to rub a thumb over his plump bottom lip, but stopped himself and turned away.

“So, the loo is just-”

“Down the hall to the left. I know, I have been here plenty of times.”

“Sorry, I know you probably would prefer to be at yours or mine.”

“This is great actually, there's more space and a magical house had more benefits to our cause. Besides, it's warmer here, homier. I’ve loved this house since, well,” Draco paused with an embarrassed flush. “Since I allowed myself my own opinion on things.”

“Really?” Ron was surprised, and more than a bit pleased.

“Of course, Weasley,” Draco rolled his eyes. “If I hated it I wouldn't come here so often.”  
  


Ron felt his heart pick up speed and stepped closer to Draco. 

“Do you apply that to all things you do?”

Draco looked up at Ron, and he could see the nervous flash in his eyes. Ron wanted to touch him, itched to do something he’d never wanted to do in his life. He wanted to fucking kiss Draco Malfoy.

“Of course.” Draco whispered.

Ron would have stepped closer, would have closed the gap, would have done a lot of things at that moment. His eyes travelled over Draco’s slender frame, his trim body under the waistcoat, the broad set of his shoulders, and his sharp jaw. He never wanted to kiss someone's jaw so badly.

As it was, their chests were already merely a foot apart, and Ron could feel Draco’s warmth, see the rapid rise and fall of his chest, and watched with rapt attention as Draco bit at his bottom lip. His hand was about to rise up to Draco’s cheek, about to caress his perfect bone structure. He could feel it in his gut that this was right, that he wanted this.

A high-pitched scream filled the air around them and Draco sprung away as if too close to a raging fire, and wasn’t that just a hilarious comparison, considering how hot Ron felt at that moment. Ron searched Draco’s expression then turned quickly and bounded up the stairs to check on Louis.

He knew that look; it was a look of shock. Draco hadn’t wanted whatever was about to happen, of that Ron was certain. The realization stung more than it should, but Ron shoved it down deep and went to scare away Bogarts and whatever other creatures Louis had plaguing his dreams.


	6. Draco

It wasn’t a real date. It wasn’t a real date.

“You look good, mate,” Harry laughed, and clapped Draco on the back.

Draco stood in front of the Ministry, pulling at his robes and fussing with his hair. It wasn’t a real date, and yet he was in full panic mode as if this was the most important date of his life.

“I think Ron might have — but then he realized and didn’t,” Draco murmured incoherently.

“Might have what?”

“Nothing,” Draco said quietly and then turned to eye the crowd entering the building

When Draco saw him, his breath caught in his throat. He was breathtaking, completely, and Draco felt enamoured. Ronald Weasley was the most handsome man he had ever laid his eyes on. It was most infuriating, really. The bastard had ruined Draco for all men. He wore emerald green robes of delicate, soft fabric, his hair was combed, and he appeared to have even got a haircut for the event. Draco bit his lip to bring himself back to the moment. He was a professional, he could bloody well do this.

“You’re drooling,” Harry whispered in his ear.

Draco wiped at the non-existent drool then glared at him. Ron walked up to Draco and smiled. He felt his stomach drop. Fuck. How was he supposed to dance with him all night and know this was it, this was the closest he’d ever get to having Ron for himself?

“You look fantastic,” Ron said softly. 

His hand found the small of Draco's back as he leaned in to whisper in Draco’s ear. Draco shivered, and he leaned into Ron slightly before he was led into the building, down a corridor and into a giant Ballroom.

The room was beautiful, lit up with fairy lights and sparkled with gold and silver. Beautiful people milled around the room, eating, talking, laughing. A woman sat at a piano on a small stage near the dance floor playing beautiful melodies. She had a stunning red shimmery dress and long black hair. The entire atmosphere of the ballroom was elegant and sophisticated and exactly what Draco enjoyed most about these events.  
  


They found their table, and were served a glass of champagne each when Harry and George joined them at the table. Draco felt Ron's hand rest on the back of the chair, and he felt a strange feeling wash over him.

“How are Fred and Hermione?” Draco asked George as they were served a light appetizer and had their glasses refilled.

“Travelling still, they send letters when they can. Fred actually sent a picture of them in an Amazon with a magical creature that was believed to be extinct. Those two never have a dull moment, that's for sure,” George laughed.

Dean and Seamus slipped into the seats left at the table and eyed Draco and Ron suspiciously.

“What, are you lot all shacking up with Weasleys now?” Dean asked incredulously.

Seamus snorted and Draco choked on his sip of champagne. What a thing to say, though Ron didn't look the least bit bothered. He simply chuckled and leaned back further in his seat. If anything, Ron seemed almost smug. Draco shook his head to rid himself of those thoughts and sipped on his champagne some more. He enjoyed listening to Seamus and Harry’s banter, to George ramble on about some new invention at his shop, and Dean asking Ron about some changes in the MLE’s Auror Department. 

Draco felt the lightest pressure against his shoulder and from the corner of his eye he noticed Ron’s fingertips were playing with the seam of his formal robes. He felt his cheeks heat and the song from the dance floor tapered off quickly replaced by the perfect song for a waltz.

“Come, Weasley,” Draco said abruptly, standing up quickly. “Show me what you’ve learned.”

Draco held out his palm, waiting, praying that Ron would take it and they could dance. It was a beautiful song, and Draco didn’t want to waste a second of it. Ron’s rough fingers slipped into his own and Draco felt warm and something close to giddy. If Lucius Malfoy knew he was arse over tea kettle for a Weasley, he’d probably have a stroke.

As they danced Draco leaned up slightly and whispered in his ear.

“Now for your final lesson,” he began.

“No more lessons,” Ron said gruffly. His hold on Draco tightened minutely. “Just dance with me, Draco.”

Draco’s breath hitched, and he looked up at Ron, eyes searching for whatever was hidden behind those beautiful eyes. He couldn’t figure out the expression,- it was happy and maybe a bit confused, and nervous. Everything Draco was feeling right that second. They stepped around the dance floor, gliding effortlessly around the room, Draco leading Ron in a seamless American Waltz combo. Soon one song melted into two and on the third they were interrupted.

“Mind if I cut in?”

Draco saw Jordan's eyes filled with jealousy and annoyance, but he was respectful and polite with his tone. He looked at Ron in a silent question. He hoped Ron would refuse but he simply nodded. Draco’s jaw clenched as he backed away, turned on his heel and left the dance floor immediately. 

When he glanced back a few moments later, he saw Ron in Jordan's arms, head tilted back in laughter and felt his heart ache. He had allowed himself to fall. Hard. He let Ron get too close, and now he was probably going to get back with his horrible ex, the one who hated Molly and everything to do with the Burrow. The one who was basically begging someone to punch him in the throat every time he opened his plebeian mouth.

Draco sighed and tore his gaze away. He downed his drink and looked at a concerned Harry.

“I think I will call it a night,” he said as he let the cold and emotionless mask slip over his face.

“Draco, no,” Harry began but Draco raised a hand to beg for his silence and rose to leave.

He walked briskly from the table, finding the door and slipping from the ballroom as his chest endured the weight of a muggle vehicle, pushing all the air from his lungs and making it impossible to take a breath in. He refused to cry over a bloke, he’d die before he allowed himself to crumble from a Weasley of all people. A blasted fit, kind and good Weasley. Who the fuck was he kidding?

“You know,” a rough voice surprised Draco. “You were required for the night, not a couple dances.”

Draco froze. He felt the tension rise in his back. Why had Ron chased him out here? He didn’t really need Draco anymore.

“Just tell them your date was sick and had to depart early.”

“Are you sick?” his voice sounded concerned and suddenly Ron was in front of him, looking him up and down. “You don’t look sick. Are you… mad?”

Draco scoffed and rolled his eyes but refused to answer.

“I don’t want to play some stupid game Draco,” Ron snapped and crossed his arms over his chest. “Talk to me.”

“Just go dance with your ex, you looked happy together!” Draco yelled and then shut his mouth, lips tight. Well, shit.

“You want to know what he said that had me laughing so much?”

“Not particularly, no,” Draco snarled and marched towards the Atrium.

“No,” Ron said loudly.

Draco felt himself pulled and then trapped against a wall, each of Ron’s arms pressed on either side of his head. 

“You’re going to listen to me for once,” Ron said softly. “He said ‘you seem much happier, you and that Malfoy have a lot of sexual chemistry, huh?’ I laughed because obviously I didn't know. He went on about how he thought he and I would have made it, and that he made a mistake.”

“I really don’t care,” Draco snapped.

“And I told him that I wanted you. Not him. You, you fucking prat.” 

Draco tried to remind himself how to breathe. 

“That’s not a funny joke,” he managed in response.

“No, you’re right,” Ron whispered, his lips closer than ever before. “It’s not.”

Their lips met, soft and wet and clumsy, yet perfect. Draco melted into the kiss, pressing himself up against Ron and moaning lightly into his mouth. 

This. This was everything.


End file.
